


To The Hills

by pikablob



Category: Hilda (Cartoon)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Runaway Hilda AU, Running Away, The Bellkeeper is Named Argus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:13:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29510901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikablob/pseuds/pikablob
Summary: The Bellkeeper has a secret: he was the last person to see Hilda on the night she ran away from home.[Set in myRunaway Hilda AU, but you don't need to read anything else to understand this.]
Relationships: Bell Keeper & Hilda (Hilda)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	To The Hills

**Author's Note:**

> Recommended Songs: [Dirty Paws (Hilda's Theme)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mCHUw7ACS8o), [The Idiot (The Bellkeeper's Theme)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WNMge2vE6G8), [White Squall (Radio Song)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O_kW9HsQM1Y)

It was Argus’ first break of the night, and he was already tired. Being Trolberg’s only bellkeeper meant his shift lasted all night; with no relief crew waiting to take over, his duty started at dusk and ran on until dawn. And, though most of his job was just to stand around and watch for curious trolls, it could still be surprisingly tiring.

So he was glad for the break as he headed down from the tower, eager to get some rest. He walked briskly, boots clomping on the old metal stairs. He wanted nothing more than to get back to his cabin; to switch on the radio, make himself a cucumber sandwich, and kick back until he had to go back up there.

But as he reached the ground floor, metal giving way to brick underfoot, something gave him pause. It was too dark to see much through the small window in the tower door, but he was sure he could make out movement. Stepping closer confirmed it; there was someone out there, the diminutive shape of a child shifting past the window.

Argus sighed in frustration, reaching for the door handle. He’d had to chase off would-be vandals trying to carve on the wall twice that week already, and he was in no mood to do it again. The cynical part of him even wondered if the kids were doing it near his tower deliberately, trying to rile him up.

He swung the door open wide, ready to challenge whoever it was. But the words died in his throat; standing just ahead, frozen mid-step in the glow spilling out through the doorway, was an all-too-familiar young girl.

Her blue hair was pulled back into a ponytail, falling down behind the hood of her red jacket. A backpack clung to her back, her hands tightly on the straps, as if she was afraid she might lose it. Her pet deerfox stood at her feet; he’d dropped to his haunches, hackles raised, letting out a growl that would’ve been intimidating if he hadn’t been the size of a housecat.

“Mr. Bellkeeper?” she squeaked.

“Hilda?” he challenged. “What are you doing out here?

She turned to face him, her whole body tense. She looked down for a moment, her gaze falling on her pet.

“Well, I, uh…” She trailed off, taking a deep breath. Her brow furrowed, and she looked up. “That’s none of your business!” The deerfox growled again for emphasis.

There was something in her voice that set alarm bells off in Argus’ head. She had a lump in her throat, he was sure. And now that his eyes had adjusted to the dark he could make out her expression too. He sucked in a breath at the sight; her eyes were red-rimmed and watery, as if she’d only just stopped crying.

“Easy there.” He softened his tone, raising his hands as he stepped out of the tower. The door swung shut behind him with a creak. “I’m just asking, is all. It’s very late for a kid like you to be out wandering on your own.”

She didn’t respond. Some of the tension seemed to leave her body, her shoulders slumping and her gaze falling again to the grass. But his worries only grew; she looked painfully fragile, that adventurous spark he had always seen in her before completely missing. And as he approached she sniffed again, a few stray tears rolling down her face.

“Hey,” he said softly, kneeling down on the grass in front of her. Part of him desperately wanted to reach out, to pull her into an embrace, but he forced himself to hold back. “What’s the matter, kid?”

“I…” She rubbed at her eyes. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” he couldn’t help asking. She took a half-step back.

“B-because,” she stumbled over her words, unable to stop herself from welling up, “because I know what you’ll say.” She shuddered, trying to hold back the tears, hands clenching into fists. “You’ll just say the same things she did!”

“Who?” Argus felt his heart breaking. Hilda just shook her head, rubbing her eyes again. It was clear she didn’t want to tell him; she didn’t even want him to be here. But he knew he would never forgive himself if he didn’t do something to help her.

Desperately he looked around, trying to find the right words to say. Every part of him was screaming for him to help, to comfort her somehow, but what could he do? His gaze settled on his cabin, still only a short walk away, and he felt an idea form.

“Tell you what,” he began gently. “Why don’t you come with me and I’ll brew us some tea, and then, if you feel up to it, you can tell me about it?”

“I shouldn’t,” she said quickly. Conflict swirled in her eyes; he was sure part of her wanted to accept.

“Nonsense,” he replied, keeping his tone gentle but firm. “I’m on break anyway; it’s no skin off my nose.”

“That’s not…” she trailed off, her voice barely above a whisper. “Okay, fine,” she met his gaze, “but I can’t stay for long.”

“That’s alright by me,” he assured her, despite how his stomach churned. “Come on.” He stood up to his full height, turning back towards the cabin. A glance over his shoulder showed her hesitate for a second, then gingerly start following him across the grass. Her deerfox came trotting after.

He kicked the worst of the mud off his shoes at the door, flicking on the lights as he headed inside. Hilda hesitated on the stairs before the threshold, pausing and taking a deep breath. For a second he felt a spike of worry; had she changed her mind? But then she sniffed loudly, wiping her eyes again, and stepped up into the cabin with her pet at her heels.

He reached over her head, pulling the door shut; she flinched at the click of the latch. He tried to ignore it, reminding himself that she would speak in her own time. Instead he shrugged off his overcoat, hanging it by the door, and turned to the radio. A flick of the switch turned it on, already tuned to a station he was very fond of. Quiet music crackled out, drowning the awkward silence.

_“Now it’s just my luck to have the watch with nothing left to do…”_

“You can leave your bag by the door,” he offered gently, heading for the small table that held his kettle and microwave. “I’ll just put the kettle on.”

“Actually,” she said with a sniff, “can I… is it okay if I keep it on?”

“Sure.” He shrugged. He dumped a teabag into the kettle, not really caring what kind, and switched the thing on. The familiar motions were calming, in a way, and he let out a sigh as the kettle started to rattle. But his stomach refused to sit still.

“Have you made any progress with this?” He looked back; Hilda was standing beneath his notes on the woff migrations, a little of that adventurous spark shining through her pain. She had managed to staunch the flow of tears, but only barely.

“A little,” he admitted, deciding it was best to oblige her. “I’ve got most of it down, but I’m still not sure why some woffs stay here in the winter while others go south.” She nodded, head tilting.

The kettle announced it was finished with a shrill hiss of steam. Carefully he poured two cups of the warm, brown liquid, before taking one in each hand and walking around the table. Hilda looked up at him as he approached, holding her hands out expectantly, and he carefully passed her one of the mugs. She held it under her chin, letting the warm steam rise around her face.

Argus took a long sip of his, savouring the taste, then let out a sigh. He didn’t want to shatter Hilda’s current contentment, but he knew he had to. Her newfound composure was a paper thin facade covering a deep well of hurt. He had to help her, in any way he could.

“So, Hilda,” he began gently, “do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

She shifted uncomfortably, lowering her mug. He could see her starting to well up all over again, unable to stop herself. She looked down.

“Do I have to?” Her voice cracked.

“Well,” he admitted, “I can’t make you tell me anything.” He let out a long sigh, struggling for a moment to find the right words. “Look, kid, I’m not your parent. I’m not gonna be mad if you’ve done something wrong. I just… I care about you, alright? I can see something’s got you all torn up.”

Something seemed to click inside Hilda’s head at that, her eyes going wide for a moment before she buried whatever realisation had hit her. She met his gaze again, sniffling loudly to try and halt the flow of more tears.

“Okay,” she breathed, “I’ll tell you, on one condition.”

“And that is?” He raised an eyebrow, suddenly very afraid of scaring her back into her shell.

“You can’t tell anyone about it,” she insisted, arms tensing and eyes screwing shut. “If I tell you it has to stay a secret. You can’t even tell people I was here!”

He blinked; he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but that wasn’t it. “You have to promise me,” she continued, pain creeping into her voice. “You have to.”

“Easy there,” he said reluctantly. He didn’t like it, not one bit; he had the inescapable sense that this was even more serious than he’d realised. “I won’t tell anyone; I promise.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes, spilling out to run down her face. Her tea sloshed as her hands started to shake, her composure cracking again. Her pet started rubbing against her legs, whimpering reassuringly, but she was too caught up in her thoughts to notice. Finally she broke the silence, her voice thick with pain.

“I’m running away from home,” she confessed, her voice quavering.

The mug fell from his hands; he didn’t even really hear it shatter as it hit the floorboards. For a moment he wasn’t sure he’d even heard her right. But suddenly everything made a horrible sort of sense; the secrecy, the hesitation, the bag on her back, and how worried she’d been about his reaction. He couldn’t help thinking back to outside; she’d been afraid he would react the same way as someone else: her mother?

“Why?” he asked softly, carefully stepping around the shattered porcelain on the floor. He could clean it up later; what mattered now was her.

“B-because,” she stammered, more tears running down her face as the dam she’d built crumbled away. “Because I can’t live like this anymore! Everything’s changed; Mum used to love who I am, but now it feels like she doesn’t. If I lie about my adventures I get in trouble and if I tell her the truth I get in even more. No matter what I do it’s always wrong!”

Argus felt his heart breaking. She went on, words spilling out before she could stop them. “Mum wants me to change. She wants a better daughter; one who doesn’t lie, or sneak out, or put her in danger, or go on adventures or anything. And I, I just can’t be that person. I just can’t.”

Her voice cracked, but she didn’t break. She wiped her eyes furiously, meeting his gaze even as water flooded down her face. “So I’m leaving,” she insisted, conviction creeping into her voice despite the pain, “I’m going to go live in the wilderness, so she won’t have to worry about me anymore.”

She was watching him closely, trying to gauge his reaction. And for a moment he wasn’t sure what to say. What could he possibly tell her? That her mother loved her? That this was a reckless idea? That running away might only make things worse for both of them? He had no idea what the girl’s mother was really like, and he could see Hilda already had her mind made up, but he couldn’t just stand by.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” He settled on, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. She frowned at his words, reaching up to wipe her eyes again.

“You want to stop me,” she accused, taking a half-step back, shrugging off the contact, “don’t you?” She glanced to the door. “I knew you would agree with her.”

“No, Hilda,” he said quickly, feeling a twinge in his chest, “that’s not what I…” He trailed off, his words deserting him. Because, though he couldn’t admit it, she wasn’t entirely wrong.

“I just think that packing your bags like this is a big decision,” he explained, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know what your mother is really like, or how she feels, but I do know that leaving the nest is a difficult thing and you’re still just a kid.”

“But I can’t stay with her anymore,” she insisted, sniffling again. “What else am I supposed to do?” She took a shaky breath, blowing the steam from her tea. “I can’t go back, not anymore. I need to do this.”

Looking down at her, at the conviction in her eyes and the tears still running down her face; at how she glanced again to the door, waiting on his next reaction to see if she had to make a run for it; at how her pet deerfox curled protectively around her ankles; he found he didn’t have the heart to stop her. Maybe it was right, maybe it was wrong, and with any luck she would turn back after a few days. But that night, in that moment, he couldn’t disagree; this was something she needed to do.

“Alright, kid,” he said softly. He felt an idea form; he looked up, over her blue hair, to the bookshelves nailed to the cabin wall by the door. “Are there any provisions you need, or anything?”

“You’re… letting me go?” Hilda sniffed. He nodded slowly; she didn’t smile, but the tears were reduced to a dribble and some of the tension left her shoulders. It was a start, at least.

“Aye.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I’ve got everything,” she said quietly. “Food, clothes, bedroll, sleeping bag, snacks for Twig…” She started counting off on her fingers, keeping her mug held in the other hand.

He stepped around her, heading over to the bookshelves. She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything as he looked over the shelves. Most of his reading material were old novels, grand adventures in space or at sea; he even, for reasons he didn’t quite remember, had a very forlorn copy of _The Basics Of Hyperspatial Spirit Dynamics_. But those weren’t what he was looking for; finally his gaze found a worn dark green dust jacket.

“But,” he said gently, pulling it free from the shelf, “you don’t have this.” He held the book out for her. She sniffled, wiping away the last of her tears, and took it in one hand.

“ _The Wilderness Survival Guide_ ,” she read quietly, “by Moira Brown? I think mum has a copy of this somewhere.”

“It’s got all kinds of useful notes,” he said gently. She raised an eyebrow at that. “What? I can’t just send you off into the wilderness unprepared, now can I?” He couldn’t help reaching down, gently ruffling her blue hair. “Keep it, kid; it’s more use to you than me.”

“Thank you,” she sniffled, the last of the pain fading from her voice.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, feeling an unfamiliar warmth somewhere deep inside. But as he did another thought occurred to him; it was late, late enough that all the gates in the wall would be locked and barred to keep out wandering trolls. There was no way for her to get out to the wilderness now.

Except for one, he realised with a start. “Tell you what,” he said softly, “if you finish up that tea, I’ll take you out through the wall. Most of the gates are closed this late, but there’s still a way through.”

“Really?” she asked gingerly. He nodded, despite the small voice in the back of his head that still objected. He knew she needed this.

He hadn’t been expecting her to down her tea in one, but she did, throwing the mug back and gulping down the whole lot. She was clearly eager to go. So he headed for the radio, turning the old thing off with the push of a button, before grabbing his coat from the rack and pulling it back on. She watched as he did, setting her mug down carefully on the table and slipping the book he’d given her into her backpack.

“Alright,” he said finally, stepping up to the door. “Let’s get going; my breaks aren’t all that long.” She nodded in understanding, a look that might just have been guilt crossing her face for a moment before she buried it.

“Come on Twig!” She fell into step behind him, hands on her backpack straps, and her pet came trotting after. He lead on, out the door, down the stairs, and onto the muddy ground below the wall.

It wasn’t a long walk. He found himself singing as he went, the tune from the radio echoing in his head. It was an old habit, one he’d picked up with years of working alone.

_“But tonight, some red-eyed Trolberg girl lies staring at the wall, and her lover’s gone into a white squall.”_

“You’re really good at singing,” Hilda observed quietly, stepping up beside him. He smiled a little at that, but before he could reply their destination came into view.

Ahead was a cutting in the ground where the city’s railway line ran, two tracks wide, out through the wall. Argus knew the place well; two of the city’s bell towers stood at either side of the arch, ready in case of a troll attack. But there was no gate; trains ran all day and night, shaking the old stonework of the wall with their thunder, so he could only assume the railway company had found some way to weasel around the law and have it removed.

“Wait,” Hilda said suddenly, following him down the verge to the trackside, “I’ve been here before.”

“Have you now?” he asked, fondness creeping into his tone. But he could already see the recognition in her eyes as she stared up at the arch in the wall.

“Ahlberg brought me here on his inspection, actually.”

“Fair enough,” he noted. “Well, this is the place; the only gap in the wall that’s open this late.”

She stepped forwards, past him and towards the gap. Twig followed, trotting up behind her. But Argus could see the hesitation in her small form with each step she took, and how she started to shudder a little. She was welling up all over again, he realised, the reality of what she was about to do crashing into her all at once. She sniffed loudly, turning back to face him, fresh tears shining in her eyes.

“So this is it, then?” she asked quietly, voice cracking. A few stray teardrops ran down her cheeks. “I’m leaving, for good. No more Trolberg, no more David, no more Frida, no more Mum, or anyone else…”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he said softly, feeling his heart breaking all over again. He stepped closer, trying his hardest to keep a reassuring look on his face. “Leaving everything like that’s a big decision; nobody ever said it was easy. Maybe you’ll hate it out there and come straight back, or maybe you won’t. But I wouldn’t judge you if you decided against it now.”

She shook her head. “No,” she said firmly, her fists clenched and her eyes screwed shut. “I have to do this.” There was conviction in her words, despite the pain. She was determined to go through with her plan.

“I understand, Hilda,” he said softly, feeling a lump form in his own throat.

Suddenly she was running, not out of the city but back: back towards him. She threw her arms around his legs, her grip as tight as she could make it. For a moment he wasn’t sure what to do, feeling her start to sob against his uniform, before he gently reached down and ran a hand through her blue hair.

“Thank you,” she said in a tiny voice, “Mr. Bellkeeper.”

“It’s Argus, kid,” he replied softly. She sniffed loudly at that, nodding a little in understanding.

Before he could say anything else she ripped herself from the embrace, still crying. He held out an arm but she was already running, under the arch, towards the wilderness, away from him and her home and almost everything that made up her life. Her tears fell behind her, droplets glittering for a moment in the moonlight as they fell. Twig bounded after her, determination in his tiny eyes.

“I’ll miss you!” she called, her voice echoing loud. And for a moment he wondered if he’d done the right thing, if he should still try and stop her, if he should tell the patrol before she got too far. But, watching her go, he found he didn’t want to; whatever she chose next, it had to be her choice, not his.

He watched as she dwindled, her shape growing smaller and smaller as she headed to the hills. And then finally she crested a ridge; for a moment, Argus could swear he saw her hair start to glow blue before she fell out of sight.


End file.
